Hitman, Inc
by Kiasohma
Summary: If certain Hitmen would just abide by the rules instead of becoming infatuated with the enemy, if they would just STOP breaking them, well, then it would be a great blessing to their employers. But then again, it's only "if". AU, GrimmIchi, R
1. Back from Seoul, South Korea

_**Chapter 1: Back from Seoul, South Korea**_

_**6:00 A.M., Bolsuria Hotel**_

"I want my refund."

It was plain and simple, though demanding as a horrible addition for all the staff of the luxury hotel. The whole floor of workers seemed to stop going along with their businesses when that request reached their ears.

The young man who announced those words appeared to be unfazed from the eyes gluing to his back, his face still facing the wide-eyed manager, fisted clench along with the arm that was resting on the counter.

"Excuse me, sir, but—."

He got cut off. "I want to speak to the director, not you."

"I'm sorry, but may I inform you that I am the manager of this hotel—."

"Yes, and you are NOT the director," was directed right back at the man. "Not to be rude, but it would be so kind of me to point out that in the condition that you are not _brain-dead_, a certain _Mr. Shirosaki_ should be notify quickly to "get his ass down here before it is getting dragged down instead."

The older man was insulted by the harsh words; a frown was quickly drawn on his visage. The 'domestic disturber' clarified mentally to himself the manager's lips to be drawn _crudely _as well; it was a wise choice on his part to refrain from saying that out loud.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave before we call security."

"Don't give me that," the young man raised his eyebrow in irritation. "You're bound to the basic ground rules as much as the others. It's required…that if I want to speak to the Bulsuria's owner, you inform him of the situation and call him down."

"You—."

"What's going on here?" a new voice permeated throughout the lobby, the familiar tone recognized by everyone. It was Shirosaki Hichigo.

The director's arrival renewed the energy of each staff member, or rather—it would be safer to say that his deathly glare served to scare off the lethargy in the employees, as they scurried hurriedly away from the main floor.

Pity, the manager couldn't go anywhere. The poor man froze on the spot, legs about to passed out, when Shirou stalked towards him angrily.

"…I have a bone to pick with you...." The chilling voice drawled lazily. "Making so much noise in the bloody morning…"

"Sire—I mean, sir, I truly apologize!"

The reply did nothing to lift off Shirou's menacing scowl. He groaned, "I'm awake now, aren't I…? Tell me, _am I a morning person?_"

"I'm sorry, sir! And no you're not, sir—."

"Hey, Shirou."

"A decreased pay-check this month looks REAL appealin' to me right now, ya know." The man's voice was slurring, his speech looked like it was going back to some kind of street-talk.

That was never a good sign.

"SIR!"

"…Yo, Shirou."

"And when did I ever allow you to call me in such a friendly term like that, huh?"

"But Shirosaki-san! That wasn't me!"

"It's me."

The albino Bulsuria's director didn't notice a second presence until now. He turned his head a fraction to glower at whoever it was.

Shirou was taken back when a reflection of himself greeted back in a form of orange hair and brown eyes.

"…Ichi…go?"

The younger male gave him a smirk. "Mornin', Shirou."

Golden orbs took in the man's form; Shirou shook his head to rid himself from the shock of seeing a double, only to realize that it was his brother smiling back at him.

_Man, mornings are such a pain._

"What are you doing here so early," the albino asked, a bit tentative. If he remembered correctly, he sent Ichigo off to Korea to…take care of a minor problem there for him. It was all business, and he had no doubt that Ichigo was skilled in that certain field of expertise enough to finish things quickly. But he didn't expect his brother to be back so fast.

Ichigo shrugged. "Eh, I stayed for the night. Everything was…untimely. Anyway, gotta talk to you about something." His eyes narrowed down. "Privately would be nice."

Shiro seemed to get the hint, but he wasn't above confusion. He gestured Ichigo to follow, speaking up along the way. "Did you arrive last night?

"In the evening actually, but that's not the point."

Shirou nodded. He scratched his chin and paused, remembering something suddenly. "Incidentally, Ichigo, was there a problem with the staff?"

Ichigo looked back at the front counter to see the old man letting out a huge breath, probably in relief from holding it in so long since Shirou came down and bombarded him with threats. The orange-haired teen decided to let the poor guy off. "Nah, nothing in particular. It's my fault for making all the ruckus anyway."

Shirou nodded, but he didn't seem to buy it. Glancing back, he shook his head and pulled Ichigo's arm forward. "You still have that old habit, don't cha, Ichi?"

Ichigo frowned. "What old habit?"

"Plainly…Your mood meter might as well be a damn rollercoaster—."

"You rule like a fucking tyrant…"

"_Morning's _abloody exception," Shirou hissed at his brother.

Laughing at Shirou's sulking face was like an enjoyable past time for Ichigo. He often forgot how fun it was to tempt the other into throwing an angry fit, but then he would admit that it wasn't amusing anymore when Shirou switched the role and he was the one moping instead.

"It's been weeks since you were gone," said Shirou, coolly stating the obvious. He grinned. "Enjoy yourself?"

That earned him a scoff. "It wasn't a fucking vacation, Shirou. That, and the problem is…" Ichigo narrowed his eyes at Shirou. "You gave me a faux job. The trip was a waste and I still have this stupid jetlag." The words were practically filled with annoyance.

Shirou raised a curious brow, his mouth parted like he was about to say something back but decided to be calculative about the matter. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what was said."

It was then that Shirou heaved in a breath, letting it back out slowly to calm his nerves down, and Ichigo hoped that his brother wasn't going to start fuming and breaking furniture. Not that he really care—it wasn't his—but then objects would be flying and innocent people would be hoisted on stretchers. He snorted at the thought. _Yeah, like they weren't in trouble already with their jobs_.

The siblings filed into a room at the end of the hall, away from the huge crowds, and it wasn't until Shirou closed the door that the albino began to turn livid.

_What were their jobs you ask?_

"A WASTE?! You were supposed to just _kill_ the guy. How did you mess that shit up!" Shirou burst out, seething. "Shoot him, garrote him, I don't care, just finish the job!!"

Ichigo groaned at the loudness of his brother's unique, distorted voice. He could only hope that Shirou was smart enough to sound proof this room if he was going to be this _emotional_ all the time. "You go on and on about that but guess what Shirou, you can't kill a person who's already DEAD."

"You're lyin'," the albino denied. "My sources are ALWAYS right."

"It's not quite about correct information any longer, Shirou," Ichigo sighed. "I'll surmise…" he lingered, trying to put it as plainly as possible. "…_X_ got there before us…_again_. This is the sixth time since he started popping out, Shirou. I'm tired of it."

Shirou scowled, his fist clenching in anger until his knuckles turned white. Ichigo merely stared worriedly at it; he knew that his brother probably wasn't going to appreciate that kind of attention, so Ichigo was going to save himself from the mortification and irritation. This hotel had enough horror from Shirou as it is; he didn't need to add to it.

If there was any confusion or interest to what the hell this X is, Ichigo would gladly conclude that it was a well persuaded result after a long, redundant argument with Shirou when the man wanted to be an idiotic git and tried to be funny.

X was a name Ichigo decided for this unknown hitman in order to _ban_ his albino, older brother's choice of "Strawberry". It proceeded from a discussion into a little squabble when Ichigo pointed out that it was a retarded way to identify a person. The situation ultimately evolved into a full-blown argument when Shirou kindly changed it to "Blueberry" because, as he reasoned, "Oh yeah, that's what we refer to you as."

In the end, it was "X" and it was final.

As Ichigo reminisced about the 'fruit fight', so to speak, Shirou was left alone with his homicidal thoughts.

After a few moments of imagining himself on a plane to Korea to barrage on whatever being that DARE _stole _their victim, Shirou lifted his numbed hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, rubbing the stress away soothingly.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it NOW…Let's just hope this one has a better end result than the last…for us, of course, not the target—it's never _good_ for the target."

The mumble words from Shirou set Ichigo chuckling at the last part. No, he wasn't laughing at someone's impending doom, god forbid. But with the occupation he had, hell yeah, it could turn humorous once in awhile. Humans take pleasure out of someone else's expenses, Ichigo'd _seen_; it was a given.

Shirou's tired face was a plus, too. It was rare to see his obnoxious, arrogant brother to be restless, kinda like a cat actually.

_A white, fluffy cat…_

"What the hell are you laughing at!?" Shirou hissed when he caught Ichigo snickering. The orange-haired teen simply gave his brother a shrug and straightened up, stretching his back a little and hearing a crack.

_Well, that wasn't good._

But like the stubborn bastard he was, Ichigo ignored it and regarded the matter as a similar concept of 'cracking one's knuckles'. Little did he know, it was going to be a big problem later on.

"Oh yeah, and you said_ this one_, meaning…we got another job?" Ichigo inquired; the teen seemed uninterested, but he couldn't help but place his worries on the location. About 1 year ago, he got sent to Africa, and frankly, he didn't want to go again.

If Dear Brother was going to have a gripe about it, then tough.

"Yeah, and get this, it's Japan. You're not travelin' out of country this time, so I guess that would be an advantage to your flight-height problem?" Shirou jeered, earning a sarcastic 'Ha ha, very funny' from Ichigo.

"Happened ONCE when I was five, you asshole. And you're _still_ on my case about it…"

Shirou grinned. "Whatever you say, Ichi." He remembered the sight of his younger brother's purple face and chuckled. God, that was priceless. Pity, little Ichi got over the problem somehow when he started high school before Shirou could take a picture and save it in the family photo album.

_Ahhh, good times…_

"In any case…" Shirou changed the subject lazily, smiling with exasperation. "I'll send you the info later when I'm done checking through it, but for now, take flight 115 to Sapporo, Hokkaido. Go take a rest there or something 'till ya get a message from me. And Ichi…_Please_, get it done successfully this time."

The orange-haired teen growled at the nickname, clicking his tongue in annoyance before nodding along. "Sure, sure, whatever. I don't see how you only sit your butt here managing our father's hotel, as in, doing _nothing_—but you get to complain."

A smirk was thrown his way while Ichigo deliberately ignored it. "Tell Dad I said 'hi'." He added as an afterthought.

"Not gonna stick around?"

"You know that answer," Ichigo responded, rolling his eyes at Shirou's playful intentions. He uncomfortably thought back about yesterday event.

As a reaction from the scene of an old, black Chevrolet that was his dad's parked in front of his house, Ichigo alarmingly steered his motorcycle back into a sharp U-turn and floored his engine away without even a second glance backward. He drove around for awhile and ended up recognizing the tall building that was the Bulsuria hotel.

Ichigo didn't need second thoughts and checked in for the night without greeting Shirou in fear of his brother calling Dad about his arrival just to piss him off. He went to sleep peacefully after that…that was until he woke up to the sight of a fat cockroach twitching its ugly antennae in his face.

The boy's lips pulled back into a cynical expression. "Being a mafia and all, you'd think he would act more his age." He sighed. "And I'll get the job done. Cross my heart, Shirou."

The albino wriggled his nose in distaste at the last line. He really wasn't fond of it. "_Don't_ say that or I'm gonna kick ya in the face…"

But Ichigo was already opening the door wide, and let himself out with a casual wave to his brother before ambling off to pack his things, all the while hoping that his old man left the house already so he could gather newer supply from his wardrobe.


	2. Time Bomb

_**Chapter 2: Time Bomb**_

In the event in which he could figure out how to crack a bomb, Grimmjow would have gladly shut the ticking noise off without question.

But well, he couldn't, and so he was now glaring at the obnoxious wires-infested object that was sitting in front of him with a mocking countdown

The teal-haired man cursed loudly. "There's no effing way I'm stuck with this," he muttered, denying the red, bold numbers on the monitor. "Aizen can kiss his ass goodbye…and where the HELL is Ulquiorra when I actually NEED him!?"

Having a dire need for a cigarette, Grimmjow reached into his back pocket for a Lucky Strike stick, and scowled when finding a light, empty box instead. The man heaved in a breath before getting up from his initial squatting form.

"What did that pervert Szayel said 'gain? Something red wire…across from black…straight from blue." He tried to remember the outline his companion had drawn for him this morning. All he could see was a cluster of cables that slithered around like snakes, peering at him like they were going to disconnect themselves and leave him choking in the intensity and cloud of stress.

THAT or it was going to explode and Grimmjow was going to be wallowing in self-pity in hell. "Shit, aren't I supposed to cut the red _first_? And that bastard didn't tell me anything about green!! Why am _I_ HERE!?"

Grimmjow kicked the black box of destruction unwittingly and it tipped. He regretted it when the stupid number 8 innocently switched to a blinking 5.

Cerulean eyes widened almost alarmingly at the sudden change.

Great…now he needed 2 cigarettes.

_Eh, I tried…_

With that thought in mind he wrapped the ticking box in a red cloth he pulled from his messenger bag, and checked to see if his knots were strong enough to hold, before darting off, swinging the package left and right as he went, you'd think that the guy would handle a _bomb_ with more care than this.

Grimmjow swished though dark corridors, instincts guiding him forward before catching sight of elevators' lights. He glided forward and kicked open the fire escape next to them, almost tumbling down the steps when he carelessly miscalculated the distance of the cement floor and the stairs.

Grimmjow cussed and took a few levels down before jumping over the rail in attempt to go faster.

Glancing around for a back window stupidly, Grimmjow was stopped short in his actions when a familiar ringtone whiffed into his ears. The teal-haired man instantly reached for his phone.

"_What_," Grimmjow rudely snapped into the earpiece. He heard a muttered 'trash' before a monotonous tone of voice spoke.

"Where are you?"

Grimmjow's eyes shot to a scurrying rat and he frowned at the creature. "Follow the trail of smokes, man…_I'm_ gonna be exploding soon because of you."

"Stop joking around," the voice muttered back. "Tell me now. This is happening because you fail to disconnect the—."

"Did you actually EXPECT _ME_ to succeed?!" Grimmjow burst hysterically.

Who the hell gave him this job in the first place?

He didn't know the first thing about bombs; it was like giving a teacher a machine gun or a mechanic a wooden desk to fix. "Why didn't you come figure this out yourself?"

"It was Aizen-sama's wish for you to get rid of the explosive device, Grimmjow…"

…

_What?!_

Grimmjow stood for a moment in contemplation.

"Would it _kill_ you to disobey orders for once?" He was tired, sighing in exasperation, still surveying the grounds as to find a way to figure things out. Grimmjow doubted anything helpful would show up now, no, he wasn't that deserving, so no guardian angel was going to come down and save his ass anytime soon.

Rather, they're probably up there cackling at his misfortune right now, exclaiming 'good riddance' or something.

Grimmjow heard a static sound from his cell, like the communicator on the other side had been moved.

"Grimmjow? How are you?" a smooth voice talked, and Grimmjow twitched his nose in disgust, sucking a breath through clenched teeth when it came through.

The teal-haired man grumbled. "Aizen." He tested the name out, and decided that no matter how many times he heard it, he disliked it. "Is this your idea of a joke—?"

"Could you please look at the time for me?" the voice cut him off. It wasn't rough—that bastard didn't know how to be _crude_—but it was rude nonetheless. Grimmjow grudgingly look at his watch.

He paused and pulled the brown package he was carrying open instead once he realized Aizen's true meaning.

"…2 minutes 35 seconds and decreasing," the man notified, getting nowhere near happier than he was before, which was to say…'it wasn't much'.

"Oh, good," Aizen commented nonchalantly.

What pissed Grimmjow off so much was the lack of sarcasm in those words. Seriously, did that guy _want_ him to die?

Aizen continued. "Please leave the little object by the door, wherever you are, preferably…the fifth floor." Grimmjow looked at the walls and saw a big, red 5 smacked near the exit. A suspicious coincidence, wasn't it? Grimmjow lifted his eyebrow in interest. It was like that bastard was planning something from the start and deliberately left him out of it.

He shook his head and reminded himself that he was running out of time, doing as he was told with obvious disdain as he continued to mentally complain.

"What the hell are you trying to do now?" He placed the object carefully on the ground. "Aren't you on the 10th floor or something, cus you're not gonna make it…" Grimmjow warned.

Was he worrying?

The man pondered. Of course he was, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone in particular because those assholes obviously didn't need any more boosts to their over-sized egos. Regardless, Aizen Sosuke was his boss, so even if Grimmjow wasn't a loyal bastard in denial, he was going to be jobless if his employer ended up in a coffin after this.

So, philosophical wise, Grimmjow was going to become a hobo if Aizen failed to get his ass out the elevator shaft in time.

Before Grimmjow could wonder anymore about his not-so-bright future, the graceful tone floated through the earpiece again. "No, no. We're waiting for you right now, Grimmjow." The man was practically smiling. "Worry about yourself first and please hurry."

Something…

…was off…

Grimmjow felt it; it was that kind of instinct-driven emotion, or an electric shock somewhat, that ran through his body, and he wondered if the feeling was turning into a big, fat sign for him to jump out the window right now instead of going back to the ball-room and risk blowing up to pieces.

It was 1 minute 35 seconds and decreasing on the black box of doom.

Grimmjow was going to have to run now to get to the party Aizen was in before the bomb went off, if not actually getting out alive—forget about being unharmed.

He was definitely going to…

But…

"Where EXACTLY are you right now, Aizen?"

There was a short hiatus on the other line, and then this innocent, cheerful voice came.

"Oh?" Aizen started, a little confused—which was just a huge, faux tone in Grimmjow's ear. "Did I forget to mention that the party was over?" and each syllable that the teal head heard made his upper lip twitched in anxiety.

"We're in the lobby right now." Grimmjow could just feel the man smiling. "Heading outside—."

The countdown blinked 30 seconds…and Grimmjow jumped out the fifth floor window after all.

_Fuck you all._

The bomb went off not too long after the rash action was made by a certain hitman; the loudness of the explosions did well to cover up the cracking of bones in the back alley behind the building, so as the commotion started and police cars came rushing, Grimmjow was left to contemplate on his early retirement alone in pain.


	3. Memories, Pain, and Revelations

_**Chapter 3: Memories, Pain, and Revelations**_

He woke up with a startle. A hand went up to scratch his head, displeased, feeling unpleasant as he shuffled to get into a comfortable position in his seat. Ichigo glanced around warily and then looked out the window to see nothing but mere darkness; only the red, blinking lights were in existence outside.

He really hated flights

Ichigo sighed and closed his eyes. "Damn, never knew Hokkaido's gonna be this _long_…"

It was a mumble but the old man seating next to him turned to look at Ichigo in a bored and annoyed manner, like the orange-haired teen just woke him up—which he probably did—before turning the opposite way of the teen and went back to snoring.

Groaning, the orange-haired teen pondered on his dream…or should he say a vague, past memory…

He closed his eyes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

_The suffocating scent of black smoke and blazing fire surrounded a building, eating it up from the inside, darkening even more the achromatic night sky. Ichigo stood outside and watched as the police and firemen hurried across the streets, shouting warnings, yelling out orders. _

_For a second, the teen was worried._

Was it the Bulsuria? No, someplace else…

_He caught a glimpse at the street name behind all the crowds; it was in Korean._

In Seoul?

_Ichigo remembered. That's right, he was just walking by when he heard the commotions. He groaned and palmed his face. The mission was a failure; someone got to that CEO before him, so he was now ambling around the block when he saw smoke rising behind some creepy house. _

_Ichigo decided to go see what was going on in order to waste time and get his mind off the work._

"_Shit! The fire spread too much. We can't hold it down!"_

"_Get another hose! And make sure those onlookers are in safe distance!"_

_Ichigo walked over to a man nearby and asked out of curiosity, "What's going on?"_

"_Huh? Oh, seems like there was an explosion around the fifth floor or something." The man, in his mid-thirties, scratched his chin, pondering. He took a look at Ichigo. "Are you a foreigner?"_

"_Uh…" Ichigo gave him a sheepish smile. He knew his Korean wasn't that good, but at the very least his knowledge was enough to get a conversation going. "Yeah, Japanese. Was it that obvious?"_

_The man merely smiled with amusement. He set his glasses up with his fingers gently, and brushed his brown hair from his face when a blast of cold wind came rushing by. _

"_No, in fact, you speak quite fluently." He paused, glancing back to the flaming structure of the burning hotel before answering Ichigo's question from before. "I heard the police shouting about how it was planned to make the building collapse. Well, it certainly caused a huge mess."_

_Ichigo had turned his head to the building once more, watching as water shot out of hoses from different directions, trying to put the fire out. When the heated atmosphere appeared to die down, Ichigo strolled off across the streets, his interest suddenly lost. He waved once at the gentleman as a thank you for the information._

_His mind immediately shifted back to his brother's order on the death of the business man. How was he going to tell Shirou about the mission?_

_Damn, his brother was going to be pissed. Ichigo couldn't help but feeling down. He never missed a target before, and how long had the man been dead? How slow had Ichigo gotten?_

_The teen turned at a corner, not quite focused on where he was going, only to get away from all the hectic problems at hand. He didn't pay attention enough that he bumped into a tall figure coming out of the alley._

_"Oh, sorry," Ichigo said before letting the man passed. He was about to return to his musing when something caught his attention and his brows furrowed. Ichigo glanced back at the man who was currently attempting to…limp away…_

_Ichigo pensively stared at the man's state. He heard quiet curses and saw an arm swinging across the heaving chest, clutching at some injury Ichigo couldn't see._

_The man looked horrible._

_"Umm…" The teen took a cautious step forward. "Hey, do you need help?"_

_The stranger didn't bother to look back, only pulling his brown overcoat closer to keep himself protected from the cold night of Seoul. _

_He wheezed in response. "…'m fine."_

_The man went through a fit of coughing before cussing at some poor bastard that seemed to be the cause of his pain, and Ichigo winced at some of the words._

_The orange-haired teen didn't want to be a nosy brat, so he decided to let the stranger go, mentally wishing him luck for his health. He understood that being adamant in aiding someone, especially people that obviously shunned themselves away from help, could be viewed as annoying and irritating more often than being seen as_ nice_. _

_Ichigo knew from first hand experience when his dad tried to fix his broken arm in an accident, all the while knowing that he knew only the basics of medical aid, and even when that was ignored, Shirou's and Ichigo's yelling about leaving the worse for the doctors SHOULD have been enough to stop Isshin from fracturing another section of his arm mistakenly. _

_It _should _have been enough, but it wasn't._

_And Ichigo suffered through the additional searing pain as he was carried to the hospital 15 minutes later by a broken record Isshin saying, "Sorry, my son!" and an angry Shirou stomping on the car gas so hard that not even the police could catch up with them for disobeying traffic law. _

_Ichigo frowned. With that memory etched into his mind, he continued his walk down the street, scowling; the stranger with Prussian blue hair soon forgotten. _

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

"…passenger."

The teen awoke to hear a brief announcement, blinking the sleep out of his brown orbs and stretching as much and as discreetly as he deemed appropriate on a plane.

"Attention, we will be arriving in Hokkaido very shortly. Passengers, please turn off all electronic devices and stay in your seats." The announcement went off again. A thin flight attendant went by Ichigo quickly and he caught the jerkiness of a hurried person in her out of the corner of his eyes.

He must be bored out of his mind to start noticing these things.

The old man beside him was sipping his coffee urgently as he must discard of it soon, and Ichigo glared boringly at the newspaper the man was browsing through.

The orange-haired teen then turned in the direction of the small glass window, silently noticing the shift in weather from the time he drifted off, and sighed.

_That dream again…_

He tsked at himself. Twice he had fallen asleep, and that memory popped up both times. Why was it so hard to forget it? Ichigo groaned. He wondered if the failure to accomplish his job hit him that hard. Wondered if it bothered him that much.

The teen blinked and looked at his watch.

Ichigo hoped to get some news from Shirou as soon as he landed. The appearance of "X" had been nagging at him more than he realized, and it appeared that the thought of being outdone by this hitman left him to inquire about his principles and ways of doing things, as if he needed to reestablish his grounds and know where his status was.

It made him look weak, tired, and even like a naïve kid who seek for the approval of the people in his surroundings.

The teen let out a huff.

_Damn…_

Frowning and feeling his mind slipping closer to the edge of insanity, Ichigo blinked again irritatingly and closed his eyes to get away from the world once more.

* * *

A/N: Hope I didn't make you wait too long. For those who had this on story alert, my apologies on possibly making you receive tons of e-mail due to me removing and uploading this chapter again and again. But the thing is that I forgot to write the part that I wrote at school down in the chapter, so yeah, I noticed that and had to add the paragraphs to it. R&R!


	4. Lies, Deceit, and Friendship

_**Chapter 4: Lies, Deceit, and Friendship**_

Pain…irritation…_annoyance_…

_Beep_

…frustrated…furious…

_Beep_

…_murderous_…

_Beep_

Grimmjow opened his eyes, his vision blurred and empty. He groaned.

_Pain…_

All those words were floating around freely inside a certain teal head, stabbing, urging, to take action, to stay silent…

Contradicting. Pissing him off in all tenses and forms that he came to know from elementary school to his current gloomy, miserable life.

And all of these terms were coated with a full-blown, near palpable, killer intent; every each one of them directed at one and only one sonuvabitch that was currently sitting, sipping tea calmly near his bedside.

Grimmjow did his best to glare from his one good eye, and Aizen smiled.

"Good evening, Grimmjow."

"Fuck you."

The teal-haired hitman squinted at the light reflection that was bouncing off all over the place in the white infirmary, cursing at the overly cleanness of the place and the smell of medicine and sick people. He tried to turn to the other side of the bed to escape the beaming face of his boss.

"Do not be like that, Grimmjow," Aizen continued as if he didn't notice the message sent by the man to go away.

_Either that or the bastard was Satan incarnate…_

Grimmjow twitched his nose in disgust and flinched when the man pushed his glasses up, shining even more unnecessary white beam into his blue, angry orb, one side hid away behind strips of bandages.

After some walking difficulties last night, Grimmjow successfully, albeit painfully, arrived to where he was sure his team had parked the car, only to find that the very ostentatious, silver Volvo was gone.

He had long ago made his peace with the fact that not a single one of those uncaring freaks was going to wait for him to make sure that he was alright unless they were told to, but he was pissed when all that he could ask for—a vehicle of some sort so that he may drive himself to a nearby clinic or hospital—was inevitably disregarded and he was left there to stand pitifully and die from hypothermia.

Grimmjow grimaced at the memory of himself seeing stars and passing out.

The machine beeped next to him, and the teal-haired man realized that he was brought here by someone. He remembered falling unconscious from the wounds, leaning against the wall.

He let himself relax against the soft sheets of the bed and tried to force his body to rest.

"…'brought me here?"

A mumble, and Aizen lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement, the skin in his forehead forming a small crease at the action, and he repeated what he heard in a smooth voice for confirmation.

"Who brought you here?"

He elicited a small grunt from Grimmjow. Aizen smiled.

"Your team, of course."

Aizen saw his frustrated employee scrunched his eyebrows together, deciding that his words appeared to be incredulous to the recuperating man.

"Szayel and Ulquiorra had stayed behind to wait for you," he said. Aizen took off his glasses and put it on the nearby counter, along with the book in his hands that he had long closed and had dismissed at the first sign of Grimmjow waking up.

One blue orb followed Aizen's extending arm and slightly narrowed at it.

Grimmjow noticed that every little movement Aizen Sosuke made, from the time he was employed by the man, Aizen had the gracefulness of a monarch and perhaps on closer inspections in the long years he had stayed by his side, the middle-aged brunette had, also, an imperceptibly deceitful side only a psychologist _might_ recognize, all hidden by the charm.

Yet one could only feel some kind of fear trickling feeling a person would feel next to Ichimaru Gin in the same charming man, though that person would then dismiss it as a mere figment of one's own imagination because he could not believe a man such as Aizen would be like such.

Grimmjow scowled. He could not detect that deceitful feeling in his boss. Not today. And he grunted in frustration, in which Aizen had misunderstood as a disappointment in his reply.

"You don't believe me?" Aizen inquired playfully. "Despite Ulquiorra's actions when he is around you, Grimmjow, he is not beyond uncaring enough to leave you to die with those injuries." He smiled at Grimjow's frown. "Although I assume you know that for him to appear _worried_ would be asking too much."

At that, Grimmjow scoffed and Aizen chuckled when the teal-haired hitman coughed, stubbornly trying to look as stoic as possible while he was in pain.

It was endearing, Aizen thought.

"I'm quite sure that Nnoitra, though he had only been here a couple of months, had stayed behind too, since I saw him return with the three of you. You mustn't be presumptuous, Grimmjow, especially not pessimistically." Aizen continued. His voice had both the tone of a criticizing parent and a worried friend.

Grimmjow didn't trust it to be either.

Aizen crossed his legs, staring at Grimmjow's eye. It appeared to look dull, but the blaze was there, and Aizen couldn't help but wonder in amusement the man he'd haired.

"If in any way they had left you bleeding," Aizen said. "…then I surmise that they were probably joking around…"

"Nnoitra's idea no doubt. That _bastard_."

It seemed like a long time since Grimmjow talked, and his voice came out gravelly. He swallowed, huffing when he felt his dry throat itched. He coughed again.

Grimmjow groaned at his situation. "I blame all of you," he announced suddenly, brows furrowing, and Aizen raised his own in surprise. "You left me with a bomb—and Szayel never even really explain the wires correctly, did he? You intended for the fucking BOMB to go OFF!! Never intended—." He got cut of by a choke coming from his throat.

"Never intended for me to disconnect it." Grimjow carried on. "If you want me to die so badly, then do it directly, you bastard. Want me ta leave, I'll leave. Don't—." He spurted, blood trailed near his lips. Grimmjow scowled. "Don't use a mission as an excuse for a cheap scheme to get rid of me. It's PATHETIC, and an EYESORE."

His eyes widen, and that was it. Grimmjow went right into a coughing fit, spilling up blood from his broken ribs, hemorrhaging more and more internally as his heart rate sped up. Grimmjow closed his eyes from the crucial pain and shakily flung his right arm over his chest, clutching it and waiting for the event to subside.

Aizen was already reaching by the bedside for the controller to call the nurses in, all the while watching in silent as Grimmjow hacked up blood. His expression was pulled into a very small scowl, pursing his lips in waiting.

"Aizen-sama!" A voice called out. Aizen glanced to see a flash of pink hair, and nodded.

Szayel was the first to arrive, followed by 2 nurses at his side. It appeared that the man was already on his way to visit the two at the infirmary when Aizen had called for help, the nurse quick to inform him in two short sentences about what was happening in the hallway, and he immediately turned his short strides into a sprint.

"Get me a dose of anesthetic right now!" Szayel practically screamed at the nurses once he caught sight of Grimmjow's writhing state. "10 cc. of Rapacuronium for the muscle and—." He paused and grabbed Grimmjow's arm when it scratched at his wound in his thrashing. "—Alfentanil. Dammit, Grimmjow!! Now I need to go over half of the last procedure because of you—idiot!" Szayel shouted at the scowling man. "This stupid—stupid! I waste medicine because of you, you ungrateful twit. I should overdose you with Xenon, Jaegarjaques!" He cussed.

Aizen stared at the scene in a far corner to remove himself from the nurses' and Szayel's paths. He noticed a new presence beside him.

"Aizen-sama…"

The brunette who was staring at the procedure turned towards the voice.

Ulquiorra was leaning against the door, watching Szayel's anger pensively. It was rare to catch Szayel this mad, and he casually noted how Grimmjow overstepped his boundaries, as the commotion carried on. He sighed.

"We will take it from here on." Ulquiorra's smooth voice was cool. "Gin-san wishes to talk to you about Nnoitra's leave to Europe."

Aizen nodded in acknowledgement, continuing to observe as Szayel busied himself to prevent the teal-haired hitman from losing anymore blood and to prepare for treatment. The brunette stayed for a few more seconds before turning around and heading back to his office where he knew Gin would be waiting.

Aizen paused and gave his last order before his leave.

"Do not let him die."

"He will not," exclaimed Ulquiorra passively.

Looking over to Grimmjow's profile, Ulquiorra studied the scene carefully with a cold demeanor.

"_Trash_," he muttered. It was a light comment that went unheard by anyone else.

He saw Grimmjow relaxing, drifting off into a state of unconsciousness before the nurses drew the curtains to a close for whatever treatment they were going to perform on him. Ulquiorra closed his eyes.

"If you die," he said quietly, threatening and cold. "I'll see to it that I'll drag you out of hell just to send you back down there myself, you _idiot_."

The machine beeped, and Ulquiorra lifted his hands and placed them in his pocket placidly as he listened to the noises of the operation behind the blinds.

* * *

Yeah, I feel like this story has been left out for quite a long time, so I need to update it, lol. R&R


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